


nothing more

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Binge Drinking, F/M, Falling Out of Love, M/M, Neutral Ending, Past Drug Addiction, Relapse, Sad, break-up, but not a song fic, gender neutral reader, inspired by a song, moonlight by future islands, which is a great song by the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: spencer and reader deal with falling out of love...inspired by the moonlight mv
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	nothing more

**Author's Note:**

> also on tumblr @zhuzhubii
> 
> ...
> 
> moonlight by future islands is a really good song. also the music video is beautiful, and im not saying that just because mgg is in it.

It wasn’t always like this - laying on opposite sides of the bed, reaching out for him and flinching when he rolls away before you even make contact. You’re still not sure why you do it, why you keep making half-efforts to show the affection you haven’t felt for him in months. It’s not like you really want to touch him anyway. You can barely even look him in the eye and it hurts. It’s not even because it reminds you of how things used to be, of how much you’ve lost over the past however-many months -

It doesn’t hurt because he’s blind to it, it hurts because he’s noticed - you _know_ he has because you’re not even trying to hide it, can’t bring yourself to _care_ anymore - and he pretends he hasn’t. It hurts because he refuses to acknowledge that this just isn’t working, would rather pretend that he still loves you than admit that he _failed_ -

You know that’s how he sees it - as a failure - even though it’s not the truth. It’s his fault, it’s your fault, it’s _no one’s_ fault. It doesn’t _matter_ who’s fault it is, it only matters that it’s _done_. 

You’re so _tired_ of this. Of lying in bed alone while Spencer stays up all night working on case files that aren’t due for another ten days, thinking _what went wrong? When did he stop loving me? When did_ I _stop loving_ him _?_

You’re tired of it - you don’t _care_ who’s fault it is anymore, you just want to break up so that you can finally _move the fuck on_ -

But you never make a move either. Never drag him away from his desk and sit him down on the couch, hold his hand one last time and say _Spencer, we can’t do this anymore_. You can’t force the words out. Can’t make yourself just _end it_ even though you know it’s over and has been for months.

He can’t look at you either, can’t drag his soft brown eyes away from the patterned wallpaper in between the bookshelves. It feels wrong, somehow, that the wallpaper still looks the same as before. That it isn’t cracked and peeling - you built your relationship here in this apartment and that all went to shit, so why does the wallpaper still look the same? This _damn_ place doesn’t feel like home anymore, so why the _fuck_ is it so unchanged?

You used to lean into his touch, used to eagerly await his return from long cases. Used to go on dates that didn’t feel like a chore, didn’t feel like _playing pretend_ \- neither of you even _try_ to fake smiles anymore and you’re sure it’s obvious, especially when he drags you out with his profiler friends. In the beginning - back when you still thought you two could fix this - the knowing glances they shared over your shoulders and behind your backs used to bother you. It used to make you angry, used to make you more determined to work things out. 

Spencer still pretends he doesn’t notice. You just catch their eyes and send knowing looks right back. It makes them pity you, makes them pity _Spencer_ , but _hey_ \- once one of you finally breaks it off you’ll most likely never see them again anyway. They’re protective of their own like that, will no doubt start to paint you as the villain the second they see Spencer in pain. You’re okay with that, you’ve decided - Spencer’s the type of person who needs someone to blame, and he’s blamed himself for enough things over the years. He doesn’t need to beat himself up for _this_ too.

And maybe that’s what it comes down to - the fact that you still care about him even though you don’t love him anymore. You don’t want to lose him. You don’t want to let go of all the good times you had together, of walking hand-in-hand through museums and stargazing in the park. Thrift shopping for grandpa sweaters and funny ties, laughing over coffee and sharing sickly-sweet pastries. His bed-head in the morning and his sleep-groggy voice, reaching over him to switch off the alarm, wrinkling your nose at his morning breath when he leans in for a kiss. 

His skin hot against yours as he trails kisses down your neck, whispering _I love you_ and hearing the creak of the bed frame, not caring about anything but existing in the same moment and breathing the same air.

You hear the sheets rustle beside you and realize you’ve closed your eyes. Spencer heaves out a raspy sigh and pushes himself out of bed. You crack open your eyes and watch him pull on a sweater - he went back to sleeping in a t-shirt and sweatpants at some point, and you can’t bring yourself to analyze that choice at all - changing out his loose sweats for a pair of dark slacks and slipping out of the room without even mumbling a quick _I’m going out_.

He closes the front door quietly on his way out, locks it with a soft _click!_ and walks away. You roll over and tug the comforter up to your neck, barely registering the empty space beside you as you drift back to sleep.

…

The sun is just barely rising when you wake, the soft morning glow filling the room with ill-fitting beauty. Your eyes flutter open to the Spencer-sized space beside you and sigh - you sigh because what else are you supposed to do? Your relationship has fallen apart and you can’t quite get yourself to stop _clinging_ to the wreckage -

You hear the clink of glass in the other room, then a muffled _Fuck!_ as something shatters. It sends you jolting upright, throwing the covers off and leaping to your feet, pausing only to step into some slippers before hurrying out to the living room. 

Spencer’s staring down at the floor, at the shards of broken glass, in shock. He looks up when he hears you enter the room and starts moving to step towards you -

“Nonono, Spencer be careful!” you nearly shout and he stops, swaying a little on his feet as he looks back down at them - it seems almost like he’d forgotten about the glass for a second and is just now remembering it -

“Are you drunk?” you ask in disbelief, your eyes gliding over the bottle of brandy on the coffee table - you already know the answer, know that if you get close enough you’ll smell alcohol on his breath, but you don’t want it to be true. Don’t want your mutual refusal to end a ~~dying~~ dead relationship to have fed into a relapse -

“N-no, I’m not…I’m not drunk,” he replies, words uncharacteristically jumbled and slurred. 

You just sigh (again) and wipe a hand over your face, telling him “Stay still” in a stern tone and retrieving his own pair of slippers, carefully stepping over to him and guiding him through the motions of putting them on. You don’t bother to clean up the glass - you just _can’t_ deal with it right now, so you lead him back to the bedroom and sit him down on the bed, pressing a (plastic) cup of water into his hands and shaking your head when he opens his mouth to speak.

“You need to sober up before we can talk. Drink your water,” you mutter as you press your fingers into your temples.

“I’m fine,” he mutters back, averting his eyes - they’re just words and he knows it. Knows he’s spent the night drinking in the living room and that it’s morning now, which means he’s been drinking for hours. That he’s _drunk_ now and will be for a while yet. Denials are his fallback and he knows it. _You_ know it, too - it’s why you can’t even bring yourself to be disappointed in his continuing refusal to admit that there’s a problem.

“Drink your water,” you repeat, focusing your gaze on the bedside table and the happy picture that’s poised on top of it - you’re both smiling in the picture and it makes you want to cry. What would that happy couple think if they could see you now, could see you standing over your intoxicated boyfriend as he sways and takes tiny sips of water. 

In the picture, you’re curled around each other, looking at each other with the adoration you wish you still felt. Now both of you curl your arms around yourselves, looking anywhere but at each other, stifling sobs instead of laughter. 

You sit down beside him and the space is palpable. He doesn’t lean into you like he would have before - he used to come to you when he was struggling with cravings, used to let you hold him while he shook with desire and cried _it’s been years, I should be over this, why am I not over this?_

You used to _want_ to hold him during those times, used to _want_ to support him and help him work through it. You used to want to be the person to help him carry that burden because he was there to help you carry yours. 

All you want right now is for him to sober up.

He finishes his water and sets the cup on the floor, running his hands over his face and through his hair. His voice is hoarse and breathy when he speaks, croaking out “(y/n)…” before trailing off and shaking his head, letting his hair fall into his face and obscure his eyes.

You suck in a breath and take a moment to collect yourself. The silence isn’t uncomfortable - it’s as if you both know how this is going to end and have finally accepted it. When you break the silence, your voice is startlingly steady -

“I’ll call you in sick for work. Go back to bed.”

He just swallows thickly and nods, laying down over the covers and closing his eyes. You retrieve your phone from the nightstand and make the call.

…

By the time Spencer stirs back awake the glass has long been cleaned up. You’ve had a mug of coffee and quietly packed you things - just the essentials, you’ll come back for the rest later. Probably when he’s away on a case.

He stumbles out of the bedroom, squinting at the light and swallowing back nausea. You decide it’s _good enough_ \- you don’t need him to be _comfortable_ , just sober. He looks over the living room - at the suitcase by the door - then joins you on the couch with a sigh, his voice barely audible when he mumbles, “So this is it?”

Your soft “Yeah” isn’t necessary but you say it anyway, letting it hang in the air and echo in your ears. 

He sighs again, resting his forearms on his knees and his head in his hands. When he stays silent you take it as your cue to continue, keeping your voice gentle and controlled as you speak, “Spencer, you just relapsed -”

He lifts his head and starts to protest, “I didn’t…I didn’t _use_. I was drinking, yes, but I-I didn’t relapse -”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, looking him in the eye and surprising yourself when you lean in and rest a hand on his thigh. You don’t even need to say it again - he averts his eyes and whispers, “I know,” his voice shaky and wet.

“Staying in this relationship isn’t healthy for you - for _either_ of us - anymore.” 

It feels like such a relief to _finally_ say it, to finally admit that staying together is hurting you - hurting _both_ of you. 

“It’s time - it’s _past_ time - that we accept that.”

He nods his head and swallows, sucking in a breath before inching his hand over to yours, letting out a sigh of relief when you don’t pull away. He tightens his grasp, memorizing the feeling of your palm under his - you know because you’re doing the exact same. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again as if he doesn’t want the moment to end - you close your eyes and for a second it feels like it did months ago, like it did before you fell out of love. 

Spencer’s voice cracks when he speaks. “I loved you,” he says, and you know _exactly_ what he means. 

You picture every beautiful moment you once had together and say it back.


End file.
